


Promises

by jdmcool



Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:36:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmcool/pseuds/jdmcool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If it's childish to believe in promises with all one's heart, well then Sherlock Holmes is, in fact, an overgrown child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow I got from this[ prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21231.html?thread=123256303#t123256303) to this fill. I dunno.

Everything about him felt alive and dead at the same moment. He wasn’t quite positive that he was breathing quite properly, but there was air and there were voices and from inside the jail cell, they all looked characters in a movie. Blinking rapidly, losing movements in the fluttering of his own eyelids, Sherlock chuckled viciously to himself as he watched them yell. Watched some poor new officer try to follow the rules of the law while an overdressed and out of place man yelled back at him, the big bad police commissioner caught in between the two of them because, of course, they called in the big guns to handle this.

Snickering, his head lolling back against the wall, tiredly, he wanted to tell the poor officer that he was wasting his breath and that if he wasn’t particularly careful he’d be disappeared like a bad guy in a Bond film or some such rot.

“Sherlock, shut up,” the overdressed man shouted at him.

Rearing back as much as he could when he was already pressed against the wall, he wondered idly how the characters on this little show knew his name. Wondered when they had stopped being interrupted by brief moments of blackness. Rubbing at his eyes, Sherlock wasn’t quite sure what was happening, but when he moved his hands, the poor officer that had gotten chewed out was standing in front of him, looking entirely defeated.

“You’re free to go, Mr. Holmes.”

Rising to his feet, Sherlock nodded and dusted himself. Forcing a smile at the poor officer, he patted him on the back as he said, “You did your very best. Although, I assure you, you never actually had a chance.”

“Get out of here,” the officer grumbled.

Frowning in displeasure, Sherlock did as he was told as he spotted the two people left waiting for him. Trying to make a beeline for the nearest exit, he let out a frustrated growl when he found himself gut checked by an umbrella blocking his path.

Looking towards its owner, he pointed at it politely. “Your extension seems to be in my way.”

“I can’t tell if you’re a disgrace to your name or a tribute, Sherlock –“

Thinking it over, he said, “Probably a tribute I would think given the history of addiction in the Holmes family.”

“But I know which one you are to me.”

“Yes, well, I do too. So why don’t you spare me the sanctimonious speech and allow me to go my way while you go yours,” he shot back glibly.

“Damn it, Sherlock—“

“Honestly, just spare me this. It’s bad enough I’m coming down. I don’t need you here as well,” he complained bitterly.

Of course, the only thing that got him was the umbrella movie away while the man holding it moved to stand in front of him, glaring daggers at him the entire time.

“You’re becoming nothing more than a degenerate.”

“And you would know given your old drinking problem, wouldn’t you?” He sneered.

“You little—“

“Mycroft! Sherlock... Apologize,” the other officer said, looking utterly exhausted.

Turning away from them both, Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest petulantly. “I rather think I was the one who was called a disgrace.”

“Should I be proud of your childish behaviour and deadly drug habit?” Mycroft scoffed.

Sherlock pointed at him angrily as he looked at the grey haired officer. “Do you see that? This is what I live with? He never takes me seriously!”

“You’re a drug addict. The only one who takes you seriously is your dealer and even that’s only because you pay him too. You want attention despite how you conduct yourself, seek a therapist,” Mycroft scoffed.

Laughing bitterly, he nodded along as he tried to keep from pacing around the station. He knew people were watching them already as it was, the last thing he wanted was to come off badly in this little show. “Right. Because for you to care would be far too much to expect from a man of your station.”

“Fine. Greg, cuff him, lock him up, do whatever. He wants to see what me not caring looks like, I’ll show him.”

Just like that, Mycroft turned on his heel and left, walking away with his umbrella clenched firmly in his hand. It was a victory for Sherlock given that he had gotten the man to walk away and leave him alone, but something in him couldn’t resist yelling out, “You know, I actually do recall what you not being around looks like!”

“Sherlock,” came the heavy sigh.

Staring at the path he just watched the other man walk as he left, Sherlock told himself he was fine. That he didn’t need anyone because he was perfectly fine and he was right as well. The man didn’t care about him no matter what he said to anyone else or Sherlock himself. He didn’t and that was fine. He wasn’t expected to anymore.

So why he was suddenly fighting back a wave of nausea as his throat constricted with the urge to cry or scream, he didn’t know. It was likely the latent effects of a bad drug, of too much stress coming on too suddenly. Letting out a pained noise, he willingly let himself cling to the older officer when he was pulled into his arms, a soothing hand rubbing his back.

“Come on. Come with me,” Greg muttered.

Nodding, he didn’t move away from the other man as he was to an office, likely commandeered from someone else for the time being. Didn’t really matter since as soon as the door was shut and a hint of privacy afforded to him, he was clinging to the other man like a scared child, soft words of comfort being muttered into his hair.

“Why do you this?”

“I’m not an addict,” he muttered into the man’s shirt.

“Not that. Not this time. Why do you push him away like that? He loves you and—“

“Don’t... He doesn’t love me. He barely even notices me most days—“

“Sherlock, he’s your father. Of course he loves you.”

“He loves you. That’s why he married you. He ... Only had me to try to correct hi failings with his brother and he failed again. I’m just a failure to him,” he muttered dejectedly.

“That’s not true. He named you after your uncle because he loves him and he loves you. You.. You two just make everything so hard on each other and I don’t get why.” Moving back, he cupped Sherlock’s face and stared at him sadly before shaking his head as he sighed. “And the drugs aren’t helping. I know you’ve been upset since—“

“Don’t. Just... Please, let’s not?” He asked, unwilling to delve into the various reasons he was spiralling out of control like a Hollywood debutante rather than the grown man he was.

Thankfully, he had at least one parent he could count on to listen to him. Nodding, Greg just patted his cheek before pulling him into a fierce hug. “You need help. I don’t care where you get it, just... You’re our kid and I know, he seems distant, but... Christ. If he lost you... If... If we lost you, Sherlock. I...”

And while he knew he should’ve made some promise that he’d be alright. That he would clean up and seek help, he just couldn’t. The drugs were one of the few things giving him peace and just the idea of doing what his father made his stomach tighten up worse than acknowledging the fear and concern in his dad’s voice did.  So instead, he just held the man tighter, words slipping past his lips without him even noticing.

“It’s alright, Sherlock. It’s going to be alright.”

_I promise, it’s all going to be alright._

“Your phone’s been ringing for the past half hour,” Joan complained as his ringer went off yet again. “Are you going to do anything about it?”

Looking at the familiar number calling, Sherlock stared at it for a long moment before grabbing the phone. Ignoring the call, he turned it on vibrate, hoping that eventually his dad would get the message and stop calling. Just stop calling because even off the drugs, things still didn’t feel quite right, no matter how hard he tried for it to be. If anything, he felt the pressure of his father’s will for him even more acutely and nothing was actually better, even from across the Atlantic.

And while he was certain his father, and maybe even Joan would consider it childish, he trusted his dad to keep his promises and the man had let him down.

Taking a deep breath, he appeared as perky as possible as he held out the phone to show Joan. “There. All’s quiet on the Western  front. Now if you don’t mind. I’m going to listen to my scanners. For a metropolitan area, the city is oddly devoid of crime today,” he said as he brushed by her, to go to his equipment.

Putting on his headphones, he pretended to be interested in them until he was certain she was gone and not going to ask him any questions about who was calling. The fewer questions that were asked, the easier it would be to block out the entire matter, even if his fingers stayed wrapped tightly around the phone, feeling the soft vibrations.


End file.
